Tell Me About It
by Moonsetta
Summary: A new plan is set in motion to drive Dick Grayson, Jason Todd and Timothy Drake from their adopted father's side by dangling what they love the most in front of them as bait. Bruce Wayne finds himself asking how it all happened and what is truly the best for his children. J.W.J.
1. Prologue-Ch 1: An Epilogue of Murder

**Title:** Tell Me About It

**Author:** Moonsetta

**Date:** November 4, 2013

**A/N:** Now it's a full story!

* * *

Chapter 1-An Epilogue of Murder

Bruce couldn't recall ever breathing this heavily or ever being this distressed by the emotions that surrounded him as he tended to keep emotion out of his well…life. His cowled blue eyes shifted from the steel door in front of him, to each corner of the walls that surrounded him, to the threaded cables that held each of his arms stretched outwards to the side walls and breathed thinly of the air in the 7X7 cell the League had locked him in.

He would have asked; How could this have happened? IF he hadn't already overanalyzed every little detail. Ra's and he had played a dangerous game and Batman, had lost…everything. It had been five hours since he had become a prisoner of the Justice League and though a few members of the League had stopped by to look in, they hadn't said anything. They just either stared sadly in at him, pitying him, or they glared, hating him for what he hadn't done. Or had he?

…

He hadn't asked for anything since his imprisonment and, in turn, no one had offered him anything either.

Truthfully, Bruce Wayne believed that it was the first time in many years that he was…homesick. He wanted to be back at Wayne Manor, not the Batcave, not Wayne Tower, just the Manor. He wanted to be home.

The threaded wire had cut off the blood flow to his hands hours ago and Batman hated the numb feeling it left behind. His hands were useless and even though he had already theorized eight ways he could escape, there was still the League and the Watchtower security. Sure, bypassing it all was possible, but he was both physically and psychologically exhausted since even before the 'complications' had become reality. Even if he did manage to stop all the League members and override the security systems what would he do then? What was the point?

Oh yeah, his gloved hands were also still stained with the man's blood.

Maybe if he got to one of the temporary bases in Gotham City-No. Barbara and Leslie knew where all of them were.

Tim had left for Japan and by now, had already met with Cassandra. No such luck there.

Metropolis, Superman. No chance there. Star, Central, Jump, Steel, New York…no.

And Gotham was where all of this trouble had begun. What was with the city? It bled chaos.

It had been a long time since the Dark Knight had no plans for the future, and he hated it all with a sad passion. Though this time, he didn't want to just take out his anger on the scums of the Gotham City streets, he wanted to just be able to reach the back wall, let his head fall back and just do…nothing. Nothing, for all of eternity.

The sudden characteristic footsteps echoing down the hallway alerted Bruce that Clark was returning for the fifth time. So, that meant he must have his cousin patrolling Metropolis. Said footsteps stopped in front of the cell's door and Bruce raised his head to stare pointedly at it. The cell wasn't soundproof so…

The footsteps continued down the hall until there was a small scrape of red boots that let Bruce know that the Kryptonian had taken to floating instead of walking. Great. The silence was back. There wasn't much more to say about the silence, it was just…silence.

Just-SILENCE.

_THUMP!_

What was-

Bruce blinked beneath his cowl and listened closely for any other out of place sound. There were none…or at least, none that he could pick up on. So, it was surprising when the cell door opened and a familiar face slipped inside.

"Dick."

Wearing a visage of a stone-faced neutral air, the Dark Squire was standing in the doorway border-line glaring at the Bat in chains. The normally open, childish look the acrobat normally wore was gone, replaced by a stone coldness that even Batman was having a hard time reading. The younger man didn't say anything, just…stared.

Bruce cleared his dry throat and spoke again, "Nightwing."

No doubt, this would turn into a circumstance bound argument. His protégé would begin shouting, ranting, accusing him of what he hadn't done…or, once again, had he? The man's blood was still on his gloves, and he remembered a bloody Batarang lodged in the neck before being yanked and…oh, he was going to be sick to his stomach if he thought about that much longer and since there was nothing in his stomach, Bruce knew he would only end up dry heaving. It hurt. All of it hurt, the memory, the scrutiny he faced from the others, the emotions of betrayal that Dick would no doubt smother him with the moment he began the accusations.

So, it was shocking when his protégé simply walked forward, reached out and grabbed the wrist of his chain-forced outstretched right hand with an unnecessarily soft touch. Bruce just stared up at the masked eyes in shock until he saw the stone visage shift slightly. Immediately upon the change, Nightwing withdrew a vial of acid and without needing to confirm it; Bruce knew it was of low concentration. It would burn through the threaded metal slowly enough that he would be able to break it when it dissolved down to just a few threads, so he wouldn't end up with any of the acid eating through his gloves and skin. Ah, he was already starting to get some feeling back his right hand.

When the acid had dissolved enough on both ropes of the threaded metal, a quick jerk from each arm released the Dark Knight's hands. He glanced back up at his protégé, who was resealing the vial and slipping it back inside his left arm gauntlet.

Wow, he missed his utility belt.

_THUMP!_

Nightwing spun around to face the open cell door and reached for the ecrisma sticks on his back. A few seconds passed and nothing else was heard by either hero. Blue finger striped hands released their hold on the electricity powered weapons and fell to the younger hero's sides.

Another second passed before the acrobat turned his head sideways, one eye meeting the confused eyes of his mentor, "Let's go."

The Dark Knight nodded, his face falling into a similar neutral visage before following his child out into the hallways of the Watchtower. This…this could all be cleared up later…when they were somewhere safe.

When Bludhaven was destroyed, it took millions of lives with it and Bruce knew that returning to the still deserted city was a defected form of self-torture for Dick. Said acrobat was quick to answer the question in his eyes though.

"Yes, the radiation is still decaying, that's why they won't look for us here…not for a while at least," Nightwing said as he reached down through a pile of rubble to pull a hidden lever.

They had already sent the Bat Jet to New York City to fool the League into thinking Nightwing was taking Batman to his base there. They probably wouldn't go looking for them too soon; they'd think that the acrobat would want to talk to the Bat privately. Plus, after seeing how emotionally high strung the Dark Squire had been since the…event, they'd give them some time before they barged in and demanded their prisoner back. They were convinced that there was no way Batman would talk his way out of his protégé's scorn. At this point though, it didn't appear that Dick Grayson would be up to listening to anyone about anything anytime soon.

Batman didn't hesitate to follow Nightwing into the emergency bunker beneath the contaminated city.

To be fair, compared to the city, the small space was in good condition. The walls were lined with lead, keeping out the radiation and hiding them from possible x-ray eyes given it wouldn't hurt Superman or Supergirl to fly into the radiation filled city to look for them. Bruce only watched in something akin to pride as the younger hero walked to the far end of the bunker, pulled open a panel and flipped a light switch that made the bunker a bit easier to scope out. A glowing keypad appeared beside the switch where Nightwing quickly typed the code:

6122 591 477 181 25 19 15 14

Hmm, clever.

A sliding steel panel covered the entrance and Batman took the chance to analyze everything around him. The bunker held a long metal able where three open medical kits were pushed to the edge. He chose to ignore the fact that the table already had a large number of bloodstains. Great way to unnerve him, knowing his protégé had used this place enough that the bloodstains couldn't be scrubbed away. Where Dick had just put in what Bruce assumed was a security code, stood a large cabinet that, no doubt, held various supplies. The entire place, through relatively orderly was covered in a fair amount of dust. So, it hadn't been used in a while. Just how old were those blood stains? There were two small shelves across from the metal table that held a fire extinguisher, a packet of powdered food, a bottle with a hole in the side, a broken dull knife blade, what appeared to be the wheel of one of those child red wagons, a dented pan, a coil of rope, a box of matches, a small canister of gas and a small heating plate. Overall, it was a cold place the Dark Knight could almost call home.

"Sit down."

The acrobat's voice broke Batman out of his thoughts and the older vigilante turned his head slightly to see that Dick was motioning to the blood stained table.

"I only used this place a few times, so we have plenty of supplies," Nightwing said, pulling one of the opened medical kits forward before turning to walk back towards the large cabinet.

In the next few moments Bruce wondered what was colder: The table beneath his now ungloved hands? Or the air between him and his boy? Also, now that he knew that Dick had only used this place a few times, he mentally shuddered at the thought of how much the other must have bled to leave these kinds of stains behind. As he had previously believed, the blood stains weren't just on the table, they had soaked into and stained the metal. They would never come off again.

Bruce's body shivered and he rubbed his hands together, hoping the friction would warm them up more quickly. Dick returned with a gallon jug filled with fresh water and a plastic vial filled with an orange liquid. He had planned to turn back to fetch more supplies that he would need but caught the sight of Bruce's hands. They were scarred and bruised as usual and a few fresh cuts littered them but they were still slightly bluish gray from lack of circulation. Instead of going back to the shelf, he reached out, took one into both of his and examined it with a displayed cold detachment. He abruptly dropped the hand and crossed the bunker to the twin shelves, taking down the small heating plate, the dented pan, the coil of rope and the small canister of gas, before stepping back to Bruce's side.

Yes, _Bruce's_. He had pulled back his cowl, to reveal his warn out visage. Drooping, blood shot eyes nearly _floated_ above the dark circles as Dick met his mentor's eyes once again.

Bruce hadn't really acknowledged the few bumps and scrapes he did have but given his protégé seemed to not want to do anything else at the moment, well… The acrobat made a quick detour back to the large cabinet to retrieve three clean towels from a stack within. Returning to Bruce's side and moving medically through the silence Dick pulled a small tin cup from the dented pan and filled the cup full of water before handing it over to Bruce. Once he was certain the older hero was drinking, the acrobat filled the dented pan with water and placed it on the heating plate. He plugged the heating plate into a socket to the left of the table, pulled off his gloves and lightly touched the edge of the plate to ensure it was warming up. Once finding that it would take quite a while to heat up, he stepped sideways just as his mentor put down the now empty tin cup.

He took Bruce's left hand back in his and looked it over critically. The Dark Knight had some deeper wounds on his chest, back and arms, but they were all crusted over with dried blood. He preferred to wait for the hot water to clean and bandage them. Until then…his hands. The bluish gray color had clearly faded some but the skin was still cold and paste-like in texture.

"Dick?"

The acrobat ignored him, choosing instead to reach for the nearby medical kit to extract a bottle of peroxide, some cotton balls and a thin roll of bandages. Before using any of them though, he rubbed the hand between his own hands. It would be awfully weird if Bruce Wayne returned from his publicized "Trip to Florence" with no hands. He couldn't let that happen. It would take a few minutes for each hand and…man! That hot plate was slow at warming up. There were much better facilities elsewhere but if anyone knew where they were…sigh, oh well, they had _some _time at least.

"Dick, we need to talk."

Dick Grayson had no reaction, not even a hidden one that let the Bat know he was listening.

"I never intended for any of this to happen."

He was still being ignored.

Damn, he didn't know Nightwing could be as cold as he was.

"Listen, I know we argued about him, but…"

The line faded away again when the Dark Squire gave him no recognition. Though the younger, satisfied that the bluish gray had faded to a pale peach, exchanged Bruce's left hand for his right.

Bruce's duller-than-usual blue eyes fell to the cut he had across his knee cap.

"Are you even going to talk to me again? It was horrible, but you wouldn't have gotten me away from the League or hidden me away if you didn't…"

Once again, the sentence trailed off.

It was two minutes later that Dick finally spoke again, after reviving Bruce's right hand to a healthier color.

"If I didn't care?"

"Yes."

"Hn."

Did Dick have to sound so much like Batman at the moment? Bruce was at a loss of what to do. He just remained quiet while Dick bandaged his hands. A sudden popping noise let the younger hero know that the water was finally hot.

They spent the rest of the time saying nothing. Bruce kept reforming what he could say in his mind over and over again without actually accomplishing any vocal enlightens whatsoever while Dick just tried to keep himself together after everything that had happened. It was a lot and he was already borrowing self-strength that his body didn't have to even give him. The acrobat just focused on wiping away dried blooded, cleaning the wounds and bandaging them.

At the end of it all, Dick simply busied himself with putting everything away except for the vial of orange liquid, the canister of gas, the coil of rope and the tin cup, which he refilled before putting what remained of the jug of water away with the other supplies. Only a few things left on the mental medical check list, Dick put a few drops of the orange liquid into the cup of water before handing it back to Bruce, and simply scooped up the canister of gas and coil of rope.

The elder almost asked what it was, but he didn't open his mouth to talk, only to drink the cup of water. The few drops of the orange liquid made the water taste drier than usual but even Bruce knew that he looked like someone who needed a long drug-induced nap. The only thing was, the table was cold, and blood stained. He received his answer when Dick pulled at a handle beneath the lit up security panel and pulled out a cleverly hidden cot. Thankfully, it was NOT blood stained. Thing was though, it was at the far end. If Dick had been injured so bad to bleed this much, he probably wouldn't have made it to the far side of the room to use it. It had a clean, thick blanket and a pillow so thin it probably wouldn't make a difference.

Sure, he let himself be lead to it without protest but still, they needed to talk. He needed to know the truth.

It was only when Bruce was halfway asleep that he realized that there was a thin strip of stained cloth around Dick's shoulder.

"What's this?" the older man asked, reaching out towards Dick who was sitting on the floor next to the cot, staring at said floor.

Only when Bruce's fingertips brushed the bandage did the younger hero glance up, his eyes still behind his mask.

"You weren't hurt when I last saw you. After…"

Yet again, Brue just couldn't finish his sentence.

"I'm not making excuses Dick, I honestly don't remember-I don't understand how I could have-"

This time, when Bruce's sentence was cut off it was because his protégé slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Seriously Bruce, will you shut up? I never knew you could talk this much."

Bruce shoved the hand away and narrowed his eyes, "Dick, you need to know-"

Fate obviously didn't want him to finish a sentence today. The younger hero had replaced his hand over the older hero's mouth, muffling his words again, but this time with a gentle touch rather than a slap. Dick peeled off his own mask with his right hand and just as the little voice in the back of Bruce's head muttered here and there throughout his life; the younger man's eyes told you…everything, even before he spoke.

"I know that it wasn't you. You didn't murder him. Near everyone's been tricked, you were impersonated. The red haze is the only thing you remember because you were drugged. You were planted at the scene later. You didn't kill him."

The Dark Knight let out a very human-like exhale of relief and before he got the chance to ask, his protégé was explaining.

"Everything pointed to you, the behavior as of late, you had a motive, you certainly COULD have done it, it was your weapon, the blood on you was fresh, the wounds he had matched your weapons, the blows you received I know match the way he defensively fought and you certainly looked like you had killed him."

"But?"

Dick let out a short, breathless, painfully pinched laugh only three degrees short of a hiccup and one degree short of a sob, "I didn't want to believe it, and I didn't Bruce. Not for one moment, I just-"

Bruce finally let his hand fall away from his protégé's shoulder, "Had your heart ripped out again."

The younger hero took a deep breath, "Yeah."

The silence that stretched between the two of them for the next minute consisted of the elder looking at the bunker ceiling while the younger watched invisible clouds of memories on the dirt floor. Finally, Dick cleared his throat and began again.

"The baddies messed one thing up though."

Dick got no response, so he simply continued, "One piece of evidence Clark found was a ripped portion of the cloth of your glove on the Batarang. Sure they got the material right, but it was too thin to be yours. It was only 1/5 of a centimeter thick, yours are half a centimeter. I knew then I could prove it wasn't you. But first, I had to get you out of there."

"And all that other evidence?"

"Since your glove wasn't there, you weren't there. All of the remaining evidence will become circumstantial to the League. They'll know it was planted or done by someone else entirely."

"I could have done it," was the quiet murmured response.

"You should get some sleep Bruce."

"I could have."

"No, you couldn't have done it."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know that you, or at least I believe that I know that you, love me too much…to…ever…possibly…hurt…me, likethat."

A shaky breath followed the explanation and even as the sleeping orange medicine from earlier pulled Bruce Wayne under the spell of the sandman, he was aware enough to reach out and take ahold of his child's bandaged shoulder.

"It's a parting gift from…"

* * *

A/N: Sorry people, I'm kind of bummed out AGAIN by something else that just happened. For those who are a little curious I'll be strait up, on October 24th my cousin committed suicide by shooting herself in the head. Seriously, four days after my birthday! Not sure if I'm more sad or angry.

Anyways, chapter 2 in a few.

~Moonsetta


	2. Ch 2: Through Thine Eyes

Chapter 2-Through Thine Eyes

A single eye scanned the multiple screens in front the form sitting strait up in a chair reinforced with plating of steel and titanium. The far left screen showed a loop of Nightwing and Robin searching through the broken debris of one of his old haunts outside of Metropolis, a familiar floating form above them with a large S across his chest. The next screen was a frozen shot of the three of them on one of the city's skyscrapers' rooftops with the addition of another figure, this one darkly cloaked. A thin gloved hand reached out and flipped a switch below said screen and static soon filtered out an unseen speaker.

"If Deathsroke was there, it's clear he's long gone now."

"And we couldn't find anything to trace him."

"Slade's smart, he wouldn't leave anything behind for us to trace him with."

"Don't worry Nightwing, I'll keep my eyes on those warehouses. We'll find him."

"I hope so. Thanks Superman."

"He WON'T get away with this Nightwing."

There. That was rage under the Bat's breath.

"HEH HA HA!"

Slade Wilson's single eye left the screen and floated over to the lump of drunken flesh that was bound in the corner of the room. Bloodshot eyes stared back and the drunkard laughed again, spitting alcohol infused saliva on to his own shoes. Ignoring the urge to shake his head in exasperation, Deathstroke turned back to the screens. Everything was falling into place. It wouldn't be long now. His hand reached for a keypad beneath the first screen and only a few seconds later, a voice echoed into the dark chamber.

"I'm going to assume this call is to inform me that you have located our target?"

Slade glanced back at his prisoner before answering, "More or less. Have the Lazarus pit ready."

"Then you have the body ready as well?"

The terminator turned to stare across the room where a coffin was stood up against the wall, with a small gravestone at its base, "But of course."

"Good. I'll see you soon, Deathstroke."

The line cut off and Slade was left with his gurgling roommate.

"Come, this is hardly how to behave in my presence, Captain."

A long gurgle and belch was his only answer as Slade Wilson walked towards the coffin and ran a hand across it before glancing downwards at the headstone now at his own feet.

He had broken apart the other headstone, for it was useless now, but the name was still clear.

A dip in a Lazarus pool, he'd have to only put the coffin a few feet down so he had a chance to taste fresh air.

"Hmm, soon Batman. What better way to break your family ties than to return what your boys lost so long ago?"

Deathstroke turned back to face the screens, his gaze lingering on one figure in particular.

"And I've got quite the surprise in store for you, Nightwing."

A surprise that would break him. Break those blasted ties of loyalty he had to the Bat. Oh, and Slade Wilson was going to enjoy every moment of it.

* * *

A/N: Just a short one for now.

~Moonsetta


	3. Ch 3: A Murder's Right

Chapter 3-A Murder's Right.

"What do you think Deathstroke's up to now?" Robin asked his older brother as they both landed on the rooftop of an old broken down bakery that had definitely seen many better years.

Cobalt blue flashed against the red reflection of the city's surrounding warm neon lights as Nightwing turned and shot his younger brother an uneasy smile with a shrug, "Who knows?"

The Boy Wonder knelt on the edge of the rooftop and scanned the streets. He knew the importance of recognizing the patterns that made up the Gotham underworld and back alleys, but…whew! It wasn't really his area of expertise. It was slow going, but he was still working on it!

"Slade was never easy to predict," Nightwing muttered as the Dark Squire hopped up onto an old drain pipe and balanced…perfectly!

The younger hero forcibly stopped his eye from twitching beneath his mask before speaking again, "Well, if anyone can recognize his movements it will be you."

"That's the problem Robin, Slade's good. Scary good."

"So are you."

The elder smiled with an exasperated grin, "Don't sell yourself short little bro."

Well, with Batman, The Dark Knight/The World's Greatest Detective, as a mentor/father and Nightwing, The ORIGINAL Robin the Boy Wonder/leader and trainer of nearly every superhero team on the planet, as a mentor/older brother he wasn't even in the same RACE as the two of them. Sure, he was making his own mark among the Teen Titans, but it was a little difficult when he glanced out of the front of the tower and spotted the golden statues of the original Teen Titans, his older brother at the center of the monument. He never felt distractedly jealous of what he had to live up to in both of his mentors' eyes, but it was nevertheless a large amount of pressure to be put on his 14 year old shoulders.

"I know. I know. I'm getting there, slowly but surely."

"I mean it," the elder hero said with a half glare.

The younger smiled sheepishly, "I get it. I…could use some help with the Braleun Course. I still can't finish it in a minute."

Nightwing raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to convey emotions even behind the mask, "Why do you need to finish it in a minute?"

"I want to get through it in at least 60 seconds."

"Once again, why?"

"Well, Batman's records said you finished it in less than 30 seconds when you were ten!"

Nightwing's chiming laugh seemed to the light up the whole scene, "You do realize that was because of a mistake, right?"

"Mistake?"

The older hero jumped from his perch on the pipe to the _VERY_ edge of the rooftop next to his younger brother, "Bats had to answer a call from Superman in the city and I grabbed the wrong set of papers for the course. The world record for the course was actually 90 seconds, not 30."

"Until you broke it?" Robin asked trying and failing to raise an eyebrow behind his own mask in the same manner.

Nightwing laughed again, "When I finally did finish it in 30 seconds, it had been four hours and Batman had just returned from his mission. You should have seen his face!"

"What did he say?"

"Surprisingly nothing immediately, he just went to the Batmobile to work on the tires and I hit the high wires in the cave. At dinner though he handed me the correct reports of the course and said to get ready for patrol."

_THUMP!_

The duo jumped back into the center of the rooftop, withdrawing their weapons as their eyes scanned the rooftops around them.

It was only by following Nightwing's gaze that Robin finally spotted the figure in the shadows.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting your…brotherly bonding."

Nightwing pushed Robin back and stood between him and the shadow drenched figure.

"Jason, what do you want?"

Robin's eyes managed to widen behind his mask as the short-lived second Boy Wonder, now reincarnated, landed on the far side of the rooftop, a gun griped in each of his gloved hands.

"Hey, believe it or not, I'm not here to blow either of your brains out."

Nightwing's gaze spoke for him: Why should I believe that?

The Red Hood shrugged under his brown leather jacket before tilting his red-helmet-covered-head forward towards the other Boy Wonders, "I'm only here to warn you, that I saw someone familiar down by the docks."

"And why does this concern us?"

"It was Captain Boomerang."

Robin tightened his grip on his bo staff as his eyes grew a bit larger, "What?"

"You didn't kill him?" Nightwing asked with a raised eyebrow.

It was barely able to be seen by even trained eyes, but Hood turned his gaze to his younger brother, "He's not _mine_ to kill."

* * *

**A/N: **I know, it's another short one. Chapter 4 will be long, promise.

I also just want to take the time to thank everyone for the prayers. Honestly the story (behind my cousin's suicide) is a lot more complicated than I could explain on here and I've done a rant on my DeviantART journal page already. So if you want to know why I'm still upset by the whole thing you can find out the link is near the top of my profile-just copy and paste.

Besides that thanks for reading and you can all do me a big favor by leaving a review and maybe some suggestions or theories about where the story is going.

~Moonsetta


	4. Ch 4: Rising

Chapter 4-Rising

Timothy Drake-Wayne woke late Saturday morning. His dreams had been dark. An endless corridor of hallways and rooms, his throat so dry that he hadn't been able to scream. Oh! Why hadn't someone woken him up? It had been…how long since he had found his father killed by a boomerang in his chest? Time. Damn time. Man, he had to get his mood under control before going downstairs. Unfortunately, the deep breath he took to calm himself also made him next inhale the aroma drifting up from the kitchen. Great! Alfred had made a huge breakfast! Now he had to go down immediately! Forget the bad dream…Alfred's cooking was downstairs!

Reluctantly, Tim slipped out his bed and headed for the bathroom. He decided to forgo a morning shower in favor of quieting his growling stomach ASAP with the morsels downstairs. He had reported the meeting with the Red Hood the night before to Bruce, so there was no telling what mood the billionaire was in at the moment. After a quick five minutes, the young detective was descending the stairway to the Wayne Manor kitchen thinking he should probably rush. Despite Alfred cooking a lot, if Dick had stayed the night there wouldn't be much food left by now. Then again, Bruce was supposed to leave for a big business trip in the upcoming evening that would keep him out of Gotham for a few days, so maybe Tim could go back to New York with his older brother. The overly affectionate sibling he was would probably claim he needed to get away anyways after the meeting with Jason last night.

And Bruce would probably agree and claim it was best that Tim remain out of Gotham until Captain Boomerang was caught. That is, unless Flash had already called Batman and okayed a visit to Gotham City to recapture the rogue.

Whew! He had too much on his mind!

Ah! Finally! The kitchen! And breakfast…

Alfred was laying down a plate with two waffles, a handful of bacon, some toast on the side and a small bowl of fresh fruit in front of Tim's chair. HUN-GRY!

So hungry, Tim nearly zombie-walked to his seat.

"Good morning Master Timothy," Alfred said with a nod before seemingly pulling a cup of orange juice out of thin air and sitting it next to his plate.

Weird butler super-powers.

"Good morning Alfred."

After a few bites and a single sip of orange juice Tim glanced up and found Bruce buried head first into a manila older with a few papers scattered around his own untouched plate of breakfast. On the far side of the table Cassandra was eating robotically, but paused to wave a good morning/greeting to him.

In response Tim smiled, Cassandra was still working on the whole 'speaking' thing, "Good morning Cassandra."

As if in response to that, Bruce snapped the manila folder he had been looking at shut and glanced over at Tim, "Good morning Tim."

Tim smirked, the man could be so slow sometimes, "Good morning Bruce."

It was only then that the young boy realized the absence of Dick Grayson.

"Where's Dick?"

It was now a proven fact: Nobody could make the act of drinking a glass of orange juice more _violent _than Bruce Wayne.

"He went back to New York late last night," Bruce growled while near shattering the glass of OJ on the table.

Uh! Did they have a fight again?

"Do not fret Master Tim."

"GAH!"

How did Alfred do that? No one EVER heard him coming! Not even Bruce!

"My apologies Master Tim. Master Dick wished for me to tell you that he would return early this evening and to inform you to begin packing if you were going to return to New York with him."

Tim smiled, now over the shock of Alfred near appearing out of nowhere, "Great!"

"Alfred. I need coffee," Bruce demanded while resting a hand on his forehead.

"Difficult case?" Tim guessed.

"Wayne Enterprises R&D irregularities and I can't focus," Bruce said with a huff.

Mmm…chocolate chip waffles.

"I thought Dick would have stayed the night," Tim muttered under his breath, though Bruce still heard but just grumbled some more.

What had they fought about? It hadn't been a loud fight or the entire house would have been up.

Alfred supplied the answer.

"He received a call from the Justice Society, asking for his assistance with a case."

Oh, that explained it. When Nightwing had moved to New York a few of his cases had crossed with those of the Justice Society and as usual…the Dark Squire had been pulled into working with them occasionally. Though, that had been happening quite frequently as of late. Tim could understand, Dick and Nightwing were easy to get along with so it wasn't that surprising. Bruce sure didn't seem to like it though.

After swallowing a bite of toast Tim spoke up again, "I don't think it'll be long until he's IN the Justice Society. If he's isn't already."

Alfred smirked, "Honestly Master Tim, I don't believe it will be very long until he is LEADING the Justice Society. You know how he is."

A natural leader, though Tim had to wonder where THAT came from. It didn't seem to come from Bruce. Speaking of which, Bruce looked angrier than before.

"Master Bruce I suggest you reign in your temper. Need I remind you that you just repaired your bond with Master Dick? Acting impulsively will help neither you nor him."

Strange, Tim had never seen Bruce pout before. It was mystifying and horrifying all at once.

Across the expanse of expensive stained wood, he and Cassandra shared exasperated smiles. Oh boy! Where would this go next?

"And then Captain Marvel just blew him away!"

Bruce glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at the trio talking over one the examination tables. True to his word, Dick had returned early in the evening and Tim was prepared to leave for the next few days. Cassandra would be leaving to stay with Stephanie as well for a 'sleepover' that the blonde had been gushing about for the last week. Although, Dick and Cassandra were suited up, both planning to make short patrols. Cassandra was planning for Batgirl to make a surprise appearance at a Black Market convention while Nightwing just said he had…an errand to run. Tim had been on his way to get his costume from its case but had gotten pulled in to the story Dick had been conveying to Cassandra.

_Children. _

How had this 'family thing' of his started again?

"And then Dr. Midnight found out the alien's weakness so we were able to take it down."

"When do we get to meet your new team?" Tim asked.

"Tim, they're not my team I just work with them occasionally."

"Out…side?" Cassandra murmured, turning her eyes on to Dick, letting her eyes and expression mostly entertain the question.

"Oh, the Outsiders are doing well. Though, I haven't met with them for about a week. Dr. Midnight and I have been busy examining those findings from that shipyard."

Bruce was about to speak up when the cave's alarm shook the bats from the ceiling.

"Nightwing, Batgirl, emergency at the docks!"

Tim raised a hand, "But what about m-?"

"Stay here!"

OK then. That was sudden. Then again, it was Gotham. Needless to say, it took very little time for Batman, Nightwing and Batgirl to speed out of the cave. One Batmobile, One Winglider and One BatBike all speeding off.

Tim turned away from the examination table where he had been talking with his siblings and stared at the screen of the Bat Computer-why didn't Bruce want him to go?

The young detective walked over and found the computer locked. Hm, and Bruce thought he could keep Tim out with basic security systems? Then again, he had been in one heck of a hurry. Curious, Tim reached out and began disabling the systems that were keeping the emergency bulletin from popping up. Once it did, his jaw fell.

So Jason Todd had been right.

He could already hear the lecture from Batman-Bruce later, 'You're too emotionally involved.'

Tim Drake's eyes left the news bulletin and floated to the other side of the cave. Red and black stared back at him, his costume. Bruce had ordered him to stay here but and he was for obeying his mentor's commands but…

In a few seconds he was by the case that held his costume. Yeah, he would just-

Crap! Bruce had locked it!

The thing about the costume cases though, it wasn't just security codes he could hack. All the switches and locks took hacking, skill, maneuverability and agility to undue all the timed circuits. While it was true each one of them had their own security measures, Bruce had a 'master' measure that overrode their own. Which he had somehow activated in the last 30 seconds without anyone noticing!

Tim nearly growled under his breath before turning to look towards the level below that held the vehicles. Maybe Bruce hadn't-AHA! His motorcycle! Either Bruce hadn't locked it or had forgotten about it.

True, without his costume he couldn't face Captain Boomerang but-the others were there, he'd just park nearby. At the very least he wanted to see his father's murderer taken away.

Unfortunately for one Timothy Drake, he was about to receive a shock that shook him to the very roots of his being.

The place was quiet. That was what freaked Tim out at first as he pulled up to a wharf by the docks of Gotham Harbor. Instinctively following his training, he hid his motorcycle and surveyed the area from a nearby fire escape. He didn't want to go full rooftop at the moment. It didn't take long to see very familiar shifting shadows upon the rooftop of what appeared to be an old factory on a nearby sloping hill. A few more years and the building might find itself in the waters of Gotham Bay. One of many buildings owned by the city that wasn't doing much of anything.

Alright. Focus!

A very dim blue light was shining out one of the ground floor windows. He saw Cassandra slip through a broken ventilation shaft near the side door. Then, Tim's trained eyes caught the movement as Nightwing jumped from the building's rooftop, did a flip, grabbed a conveniently stable pole and swung through a broken-in window. He saw no trace of Batman and that worried him. This was the kind of situation he and the others had found themselves in many times. You think you're scoping them out when Batman suddenly appears behind you asking you what you think you're doing.

Thankfully though, after five minutes there was no random Batman appearance so Tim breathed a sigh of relief and made his way down from the fire escape to get closer to the factory building. He located what appeared to be an old camp site probably made by a group of the beggars and homeless that called Gotham City's streets home and waited there. He was some 100ft from the building so he would have a good view. Now he wasn't here to join the fight, far from it, but if Jason had been right and Captain Boomerang was here it would mean a lot to see the maniac taken away. He could see it-with his own eyes and know.

He had been sitting among rotten banana peels and empty slug shells for 15 minutes when he felt a knot in his stomach tighten. What was taking so long? At the very least Nightwing and Batgirl had gone in and at this point, since he hadn't been caught yet, it was probably fair to say that Batman had already been inside. Were they expecting them? Were they trapped?

The dim blue light suddenly shut off, the reflected glare in the window dissolving away just as quickly.

Strange, he couldn't discern any sounds of a struggle from inside.

Instinct or logical reasoning-he was worried by this. Something wasn't right. Sure they were trained to take down enemies quietly and dissolve situations with little to no quarrels but-they were also trained to work quickly. This in no way had any signs of being a quick operation. If any of them had to stay to wait for the police it would have only taken officers a few minutes to respond to a call.

Ten more minutes passed. Something was wrong. He had to at least see…even if he was without his suit and belt.

Gulping out of more nervousness than fear, Tim began a slow, timid walk to one of the nearby windows. It was easy really. So easy that the window almost fell out of its own accord! Thankfully Tim caught it and lowered it without a sound. The place was just as quiet as he had expected. A few squeaks met his sensitive ears but they were easily identified as the building trying to settle in the earth that unfortunately sloped beneath it. Where were the others?

The place was dark by definition and though the place lacked the cliché state of dust that these places normally had, there was a strange scent of what Tim recognized as newsprint and ink. Maybe the place had been a paper mill once upon time?

Careful about the floor, the teen made his way across the floorboards and down the first hallway he spotted. Whether he would rather count the next part as fortunately or unfortunately would be of future debate but he managed to locate a light source some doors down.

And voices…

Batman and Nightwing were speaking. Hopefully Batgirl was there with them. They didn't sound like they were in any trouble in the slightest. Maybe it was best he turn around. Then again, he should look-just in case. He did so and found that the door lead out to a platform that was overlooking a giant basement. In the center of the near pitch darkness, the people there only aided by a very dull flashlight, stood Batman and Nightwing both appeared to be discussing something very seriously. Tim spotted Batgirl sitting behind Batman on top of…

…an unconscious Captain Boomerang.

OK, so there was no trouble. He could just turn around

"We know you're up there."

Crap! Batman had caught him.

"Go home."

OK, he was getting a little resentful of that. He opened the door as quietly as he could and stepped through.

"You should go back home little bro."

Now Nightwing was doing it!

"Guys I'm fine, I promise," Tim explained as he made his way to the edge of the platform to stare down at the others.

"Tim don't-!"

The teen lost the rest of whatever Batman was going to say because-

"Tim?" a new voice spoke up from the ground and flashlight flew over to another figure seated just between the two standing vigilantes.

Timothy Drake was frozen on the spot, positive he was going into shock or hallucinating because sitting there was…

"Tim? Son, what are you doing here?"

"Dad?"


End file.
